Australian Moon
by Kaitlyn Fall
Summary: Almost twenty years after the Battle of Hogwarts and a whole world away, students are preparing to spend another year at Wattlegum, Australia's school for witches and wizards. But something terrible is happening – ordinary muggles, clearly Imperiused, are hunting magical teenagers all over the country and killing them for sport. It's time to call the best Auror in the world...
1. Bait

**Bait**

So I was in a quaint school uniform that wasn't mine and I'd been chained to a drainpipe gushing water over my pink gumboots, and the only thing I could think was: _where the hell did he get the handcuffs?_

PIMs didn't normally have handcuffs. PIMs normally had guns or sticks or cricket bats – something to kill and maim and – ohhhh boy, there was the weapon.

I eyed the switchblade my stalker had whipped from the back of his skinny jeans. My wand was stuffed beneath my school blouse, easy enough to access if I wasn't shackled to a bloody drainpipe. My wrists were chafing from the steel cuffs, locked at eye height and nowhere in reaching distance for my one chance at defence.

"You know," I said breathlessly, because hell, I was scared shitless, and talking was what I did when I was scared shitless, "skinny jeans have never been a favourite of mine. They're for skinny people. Not curvy people, like me." I nodded down to my hips. "We just look like triangles – ahh."

I pressed myself against the damp brick wall behind me as the twenty-something-year-old boy aimed the switchblade at my exposed torso.

Wand, wand, I needed my wand –

"Little witch, little witch, let me in," he said in that creepy way all the PIMs did before they killed their victims.

Oh my wizardy god, I was going to die in this outfit and these gaudy pink boots –

 _Boots_.

I kicked upwards and in a burst of magic the boy went flying down the alleyway. His switchblade clattered against the wall as Gordo finally ran in from the street.

"Obliviate!"

The PIM, who had started to scramble up, slumped back to the ground. Gordo pointed his wand at the boy's body. "Incarcerous."

Thick ropes wrapped around the boy and held him into place. He didn't struggle. Was probably still battling with the memory spell, mixed with the Imperius spell that had been put on him earlier.

"It's about time, Gordo," I said. "Where have you been?"

He shot me a glare that suggested at some point he had been considering letting the boy murder me.

Fair call. I may have given Gordo the slip to lure the boy further away.

Not that it was my fault. Gordo looked like The freaking Rock. He was hardly inconspicuous, and how was I supposed to lure PIMs somewhere private with a muscly Auror keeping a step and half away?

"This is the last time, Romy." He stalked over to unlock my handcuffs. "You're off this assignment. I'm talking to Valentine as soon as we get back."

I rubbed my aching wrists and pulled out my wand. "Aw, come on, Gordo – we got the guy. No harm done."

"You were almost killed. You're underage, and you shouldn't be doing this in the first place."

"I know, but I'm _so_ good at it, aren't I?"

A car blared its horn on the street.

Gordo gave me the once-over, his mouth tightening beneath his goatee. "You shouldn't have worn that stupid outfit, either."

I twirled to allow the pleated skirt to flutter. "What's wrong with this? I borrowed it from Mandy Bromman in the apartment above us. She goes to this fancy inner city school that –"

" _Hasn't gone back yet_ ," Gordo said with a growl. "School doesn't start again until February 1st. Any bozo knows that."

"This bozo didn't," I said, prodding my ex-attacker with my pink gumboot and accidentally sending him flying across the alley again. "Oops."

With reflexes fitting for an Auror, Gordo flicked his wand and had the boy stop mid-air and float gently back to us.

"I forgot they were magic," I said sheepishly, tapping at a puddle with the thick-soled toe. "That makes twice, now."

The boy groaned. His tongue lolled a little, and his eyes were crossed. It shouldn't have taken him so long to recover, which mean my PIM, my Potentially Imperiused Muggle, was just IM, Imperiused Muggle.

"I can't believe we have another one," I said as Gordo lugged the bound boy to his feet. "How come you lot haven't figured out who's doing it yet?"

Gordo grunted and, shoving the handcuffs in his jeans pocket, snagged my arm for Side-Along Apparition.

I wasn't concerned. He was always angry at me. Valentine said it was because he was worried. _Everyone_ was worried. What kind of sick freak goes around the entire country putting the Imperius Curse on muggles to turn them into murderers? Murderers, who, might I add, only went after magical teenagers.

The world whirled, and I braced myself for that awful, suffocating feeling that came with Apparition, and a moment later we were in the Australian Ministry of Magic.

The boy promptly vomited all over my pink gum boots. That was my cue to leave.

"Well," I said, slipping out of the boots as the employees around us wrinkled their noses, "this was fun and all, Gordo, but I really have to be getting back."

"Don't you dare, you ratbag – you need to debrief with Valentine."

But I was already padding in my socks towards the Floo Network in the corner of the room. "Can't stay – got to start packing. It's my last year of school this year, you know!"

"Romy!"

"Bye!"

I threw a handful of glittering green powder into the fireplace and stepped in before Gordo could order anyone to stop me. I knew I was going to get into trouble – Valentine loved her debriefs, and Gordo was probably still planning to tell on me for my little slip-away act.

But debriefs were for adults, and I wasn't an adult.

I was a seventeen-year-old girl with a very rare and very, very useful power.

Ministry-issued pink stunner gumboots had nothing on a Metamorphmagus.


	2. The Unfinished Letter

**The Unfinished Letter**

The Floo Network originated in colder places than Australia. There aren't many fireplaces in this country, so, besides the ones at the Ministry, our transport systems are just doorways.

I stood in the darkness, at the point between the Ministry fireplace and my apartment front door, and knocked.

Dad opened up, staring at me as I stepped out of the void and into the world again. "Romy?"

"Hey."

He was still staring at me strangely.

A streak of yellow caught my eye. Oops, I hadn't changed yet. I'd donned cute blonde tresses before sauntering along the Sydney streets as delicious witchy bait. I usually changed back before returning home.

I concentrated, sending waves of power out to my hair, and it shrank back into my skull until it was its usual dishevelled black mess. My skin twisted and warped, stinging a bit, like I'd just stretched a plastic sheet tight over it. No more cute, perky, white girl for me.

My hips throbbed as they decreased three sizes. These hips, I could admit, rocked skinny jeans. I'd actually stolen the jeans complaint from one of my best friends, Evie Winter, who did the curvy thing with aplomb but hated skinny jeans with draconian fury.

Dad watched my transformation warily. Both he and Mum were muggles, but they'd been alerted to what I really was early on, when my baby hair changed from black to orange one sunny afternoon. The wild panic was hushed up quickly when Ms. Mathers, the principal of the only magical school in Australia, arrived to tell my parents that not only was their daughter a witch, but a Metamorphmagus, and I was welcome to attend Wattlegum the year I turned eleven.

I don't think they ever really believed, even when I elongated my neck to look like a swan on my third birthday, or when I short-circuited the computer from across the room when I was angry that Dad wouldn't let me go to the year four dance, or when I'd turned Mandy Bromman's hair green for class photos after she'd laughed at me for getting a kookaburra for Christmas. (I hadn't been able to help my emotional outbursts, but I wasn't exactly sorry for them. Kooky is way better at delivering mail than the Australian Post Office, and Mandy shouldn't have laughed at him.)

"Everything go okay?" Dad said as I headed for the adjoining kitchen. "You… er… catch the guy?"

"Dad, you know I can't say anything." I tossed my wand on the bench, flipped on the jug, and got out two mugs. "It's classified."

"It isn't right," Dad muttered, fetching tea bags. "Someone's out there killing children and those Ministry people set up my daughter as bait –"

I kissed his cheek. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. It's magic, nothing's going to happen to me. Now can you make the tea? I need a shower."

My borrowed uniform was damp. If I were at school I could steam dry it and clear off the dirt, but I wasn't allowed to do magic until classes started. Not unless I was on a sting.

After I'd showered and put on a wash, I joined Dad for a cuppa, and we stared out the window at the rain falling and the brick wall of the next building. Kooky sat in his little tree in the corner, his eye on my gingernut biscuit.

"Are you sure you want to continue with this Auror business when you've finished school?" Dad said after a silence. "We worry, you know. It does our hearts bad."

I patted his shoulder. "They need me."

"They need your _power_. If magic is so invincible, why can't they just replicate your abilities?"

He had me there. I'd been using the whole "magic is might" thing to keep Mum and Dad from stressing out, but they were smart, and they knew the magical world wasn't as perfect as I'd made it out to be.

I was saved from having to answer by a tapping on the window. Mags the magpie was waiting outside with a letter. I jumped off the couch to fetch him.

Mags belonged to my other best friend, Pippa Blakely. When I let him in he shook his feathers and waited while I untied the letter. The fact that Pippa hadn't just texted me meant it was going to be essay-length.

I unrolled it and frowned. Actually, no, it was quite short.

 _Hey Romz,_

 _Oh my god, you wouldn't believe it, but I ran into Ky bloody Green in Arbour Alley, that worm, we live a continent apart and he decides to get his books on the same day I'm fetching mine_ god _, anyway you wouldn't believe what he said to me about who's coming to Wattlegum this year – he always knows everything, ugh why WHY – anyway, you're going to keel over and die when you find out –_

 _Shit_. _Did we have Dreamtime homework? Shit shit_ shit, _I haven't done it, and Aunty Shelly is going to set the Bunyip on me, shit Romz, I'm going to have to cut this short. See you on the boat._

 _Pips_

Typical. I'd reminded her three times over the summer to do her Dreamtime homework.

"What's Pippa writing to you for?" Dad said, feeding a piece of raw bacon to Mags. "She'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, I don't know, something about running into Ky Green, but she got distracted halfway through." I folded the note and put it in my box of letters from my friends. "I'm sure it was just the usual. _He said this, I said that, he's such a stuck-up jerk, blah blah blah_."

Dad snorted as Mum walked in with the groceries.

"Oh good, Romy, you're home," she said, kicking off her heels. "Help me with this, will you?"

We unpacked the fresh vegetables and meat as Mum asked the same questions as Dad about my most recent sting, and I gave her the same answers I gave Dad.

"It'll be okay, Soo," Dad said, opening the window again to let Mags fly home. "She's going back to school tomorrow, and the Ministry won't be asking her to do assignments while she's studying for her final exams." He turned to me. "Right?"

"Sure," I said, thinking of the Portkey system Valentine had set up at Wattlegum, of the extra defensive training Ms Mathers had arranged, of the folder filled with disguises I'd been given to practice my shapeshifting.

I gave what I hoped was a reassuring grin. "Everything's going to be fine."


	3. World's Best

**World's Best**

It was never an easy trip to Wattlegum. First I had to get on a 6am flight, and navigating the Sydney airport with a mega suitcase and a cranky kookaburra first thing in the morning was about as fun as standing under a Drop Bear tree. Kooky was overly verbal about how much he hated his cage.

Then, once I was in Hobart, I had to catch a bus to the suburban outskirts and walk the rest of the way to Poets Road Inn, which was a couple of kilometres from the bus stop.

I was on my Ps in Apparition already thanks to my job with the Ministry, but considering none of my classmates knew about my part-time job, my Provisional license meant zip.

It was midmorning, not too chilly, not too hot, with the sky a perfect blue by the time I made it to the inn. It was built purely to accommodate us schoolkids on our trip to Wattlegum, but plenty of magical locals ended up here to get out of the muggle world for an hour or so.

I banged open the door, making Kooky trill in annoyance.

"Goodness!" Fern Brack, the inn's cook, placed a hand over her heart. "Romy, my girl, you frightened the socks off me." She'd been leaning on the counter, talking to two patrons at the bar, mugs steaming between them. She looked a bit flustered, actually.

There were a few students already seated around tables, ready for the boat out to Wattlegum. I didn't know any of them very well. They chattered happily between themselves without giving me or the older patrons at the bar a second glance.

The two at the bar turned to face me. I didn't know the dark-haired man, but the woman –

"Hi, Val," I said weakly.

Valentine Hunt was the head of the Auror department. She was younger than a lot of the cranky old Aurors (including Gordo), being only in her mid-thirties, but she was excellent at strategy and no one dared cross her. She'd come from Los Angeles in her twenties, already weary of the magical laws in the United States, and swiftly worked her way up through the Australian system. She was part-Cherokee, part-African, and observed the Jewish holidays.

I might have been glad to see her if she wasn't glaring like she was about to Avada the Kedavra out of me.

"It's Valentine to you," she said coldly. "And while we're on the subject, Bran Gordon is not _Gordo_."

Cripes.

Fern Brack cleared her throat, maybe realising I was about to get an earful, and bustled away to the kitchen, taking the mugs with her. She threw another glance at the unknown man before she left, the flush returning to her neck and ears.

Valentine beckoned me nearer with a crook of her finger. I gulped and set Kooky's cage on the floor, leaned my suitcase against an unoccupied table, and trotted over.

"Where you were you for the debriefing yesterday?" she said, voice low and deadly.

I straightened my shoulders. Like hell I'd let her see how much she intimidated me. "I had to pack because _someone_ didn't give me clearance to Apparate here, even though I'm on my Ps."

The dark-haired man chuckled softly.

"That's not an excuse," Valentine said, still quiet. "You come to every debriefing, and report any injuries, do you understand me? I don't want to have to throw you off the team now that school's back. We'll need you more than ever."

I blinked, losing my stiff posture. "You think the attacker's going to come after us in Wattlegum?"

"We don't know, but considering a large collection of his target victims will be in one place, we have to be vigilant. I don't like that our newest IM came prepared with those handcuffs yesterday."

"What about the other Indo-Pacific schools?" Plenty of Australian students went to schools in Southeast Asia or New Zealand. For some, it was closer than going to Tasmania.

"Everyone's had the head's up, but we're keeping the focus on the Australian side for now," Valentine said. "Until we have evidence that suggests otherwise, we're going to assume he won't leave the country." She gestured to the man. "We've brought in special help, all the way from Britain, to ensure the students will be safe. Romy, this is Harry."

I stepped forward to shake his hand… and then my poor exhausted brain woke up.

The dark hair, streaked with grey, but still as messy as the textbooks had described. The glasses. The lightning scar.

I clutched my heart much the way Fern Brack had done when I'd banged the door open.

"You're – you're –" The words came out more of a squeak than any semblance of my usual voice.

"I am," he said, his voice deeply amused, and very British.

I struggled to buy into the reality.

The best Auror in the world was here, in Poets Road Inn, and I was agape like a fish.

Come on, brain, wake up, Harry freaking Potter was in my presence – what was the best thing for me to say at a time like this?

"Oh my wizardy god," I choked out at last. "Can I have your autograph?"


	4. Reunions

A/N: Thank you for reading, and thank you to those who have left reviews so far! Also, shout out to Emma for having a quick look over these chapters to check for stupid mistakes… of which there are several.

 **Reunions**

"ROMY! Tell me you saw him, tell me you saw him!"

Pippa Blakely zoomed over and launched into a hug. She jumped up and down while still hugging me, which was about as violent as it sounds.

"Harry Potter is coming to our school, Harry Potter is coming to our school!" She let go, her bright eyes scanning the now-crowded inn as more and more students arrived with their chattering native birds and quivering possums. Some had stayed the night at the inn, others had slept at Bed and Breakfasts nearby, and still others had come straight from the airport. "Where is he?"

"Already on the boat, talking to the captain, I think."

"Let's not forget why he's here." Evie Winter, who was sitting beside me with a banana muffin and a coffee that smelled deliciously of vanilla, nodded over to the Roseberg brothers. They had lost their younger sister over the holidays to the killer. The two boys stood in the corner, apart from the rest of the gathering students, and watched the surrounding reunions with solemn expressions.

Pippa's beam died. "Oh, right. Sorry."

I tugged at one of her plaits. "You're allowed to be excited. We all know how much you idolise him."

It was a family thing. While Pippa's mother had been born in Cuba, she'd immigrated to Britain at a young age and had just graduated from Hogwarts with Pippa's father during Voldermort's second rise to power. The whole Voldy-Harry battle had been famous over there, so her parents had brought their fannish ways to Australia. We'd heard the stories here, of course, but they'd had none of the impact they'd had overseas. The only reason I was such a fan was because I was hoping to become an Auror too, and he was absolutely the best in the world.

"Did you talk to him at all?" Pippa said, looking hopeful.

"I didn't," Evie said, sipping her coffee. "I only got here a few minutes ago."

Pippa turned to me, her hands clasped in pleading.

"I talked to him," I said, grinning. "But only for a little bit."

He and I had managed to briefly discuss his plans to keep the school safe during the year before students started coming down from the upstairs rooms. He'd also mentioned his godson was a Metamorphmagus like me, which was the coolest thing ever. And, he'd added with a stern look at Valentine, in Britain they didn't ask Metamorphmagi to work undercover for the Ministry.

Valentine had told him desperate times called for desperate measures, just as sternly, then slipped away – she was never one for socialising. Harry hadn't wanted to talk openly with me in front of other people, so our conversation had stopped there. No one was supposed to know I was a spy for the Ministry. Not even my best friends.

Pippa gave an excited little jump. "What did he say?"

"He said he was here to protect us, and he had a place in the castle to stay." I gave a casual shrug. "That's about all." At Pippa's disappointed pout, I added, "I'm sure you'll get a chance to talk to him. He'll be there until they catch the killer."

She cheered up immediately and went to the counter to order a coffee to go. The boat would be leaving soon.

"You'd almost think she wanted the killer to remain at large," Evie said, watching Pippa over the rim of her cup.

"Give her a break, it's a big deal for her."

"Mmm. I'd rather there be no killer at all than the chance to meet a so-called celebrity." She picked at her banana muffin. "Do you think she did the Dreamtime homework? Aunty Shelly told me she was going to set the Bunyip on her if she hadn't."

I had a sudden tsunami of nerves that Pippa hadn't done her essay, and promised myself I'd force her to write it on the boat if I had to. Aunty Shelly wasn't one to threaten without following through.

Unlike the rest of us, Aunty Shelly really _was_ Evie's aunt. Evie had come from a long line of highly-accomplished wizards and witches, with Aunty Shelly being the most recent national success thanks to her ability to weave Dreamtime stories into common household spells to make them extra potent on Australian soil.

More than half the Australian magical population was Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander, which surprised exactly no one. The bloodlines ran back forty thousand years.

The boat's horn blared, signalling that it was time to start heading aboard. I grabbed my suitcase and Kooky's cage. Evie's morepork owl, Ruru, sat serenely in his own cage as she picked him up. Mags the magpie wasn't around – he always flew on his own and met Pippa at her destination because he didn't put up with nasty things like cages and plane trips. I was always impressed by his yearly trip across the Nullarbor, because Pippa travelled from Perth to Melbourne to visit Arbour Alley before hopping over to Tasmania, and that was a damn long way to fly.

"Ready?" Pippa said, joining us with her takeaway coffee in hand. She picked up her own suitcase, which she'd released earlier in a flurry to hug me, and grinned at Evie. "Have a good holiday, Eve?"

"Reading about death every week in the _Aussie Herald_ isn't exactly what I'd call a good time."

Pippa nudged her with her elbow. "Don't be so glum. Harry Potter will catch the killer in no time."

"Then she can go back to being morose about finals," I said.

Evie sighed. "Don't remind me about Y.O.W.I.E.s. Do you know I got two Es last year? Aunty Shelly said it was lucky I'd gotten an O in Dreamtime or she'd have kicked me out of class."

Evie was the one everyone expected to get top marks because of her famous family history. I'd found her crying more than once last year, surrounded by parchment and books as she tried to absorb all the information the teachers kept dumping on us.

It got harder each year, and seventh year promised to be the worst. Not only did we have to take Y.O.W.I.E.s (Yearly Onerous Wildly Incessant Exams) like always, but this time our results would determine whether we could get into the job we wanted, or apply for higher education. It had caused a bucketload of stress for the seniors before us.

"All right," I said, heading for the queue slowly moving out the back door and to the boat. "It's time to go back to school."


	5. Antipodean Odyssey

**Antipodean Odyssey**

The Antipodean Odyssey was a magnificent vessel that was more a two-storey cruise ship than anything. It sat serenely on Bottlebrush River, which was a body of water inaccessible to muggles that snaked across Tasmania, deep into Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park. My favourite part of the journey was when we reached the forest, with its enormous mossy swamp gums, their trunks twisted and knobbly and growing taller than giants.

I thought of the forest as the students massed down to the water, across the rickety wooden jetty, and up the gangplank. I was going to miss this place so much it ached, and who would've thought I could say that about school?

"Kind of makes you nostalgic, doesn't it?" Pippa said, giving her coffee for me to hold and digging into her backpack as we made it to the jetty. "Seeing this place for the last time."

"You can't be nostalgic about a current event," Evie said, staring at the golden lettering on the side of the boat.

The water was a murky colour, but it would change when we got into bushland, turning as deep green as the trees it reflected.

Pippa gave a cry of triumph as she pulled a knitted hat with earflaps and bobbles out of her backpack. It was dark green and gold.

"What is _that?_ " I asked, choking.

She popped it on and grinned. "My Holyhead Harpies hat."

"Traitor," Evie muttered. Evie had always been deeply offended that Pippa went for a British Quiddich team when there were plenty of excellent Australian Quiddich ones, although I had a feeling Pippa's club choice had more to do with Ginny Potter's short stint with the Holyhead Harpies than any prior loyalty.

I stifled a snicker as the bobbles on the end of Pippa's ear flaps swayed in the breeze. "You look ridiculous."

"I'm sick of being cold in that darn castle," Pippa said, taking her coffee back from me. "This year, I thought it was finally time to take action." She rounded on Evie. "You Tasmanians with your insane weather. Give me a nice 40-degree summer day, that's what I live for. Perth knows what it's doing."

Evie exchanged glances with me, but we didn't argue. Pippa had to carry around Bluebell Flames for most of winter, even when the days were mild.

We were halfway up the gangplank when someone yelled, "Hey Pippa, nice hat!"

We glanced down to the jetty, and lo and behold, there was Ky Green with his three best mates. They were all laughing.

Pippa patted her hat proudly. "I can order one for each of you if you like," she called down to them.

Ky grinned. "I think I'll pass, Pips."

"Suit yourself." Pippa scanned the boat windows and groaned. "We should've tried to get on sooner. I'm sure Harry Potter's swamped with people by now." She ducked under the doorway after Evie. "It's so annoying! No one would've cared one bit about him before, but now he's here, everyone's like, _oh, I get to meet a celebrity_. But _I_ know more about him than anyone here – _I_ should be the one who gets to sit next to him."

"You know he's married, right?" Evie said. "With, like, kids and stuff?"

"Of course I know," Pippa said, frowning. "Didn't I just tell you I knew more about him than anyone here? But that doesn't mean I shouldn't be allowed to fangirl all over him."

"Sounds icky," I said, earning a whack from her.

I was still laughing when we found a cabin to ourselves. It was on the lower deck, of course – all the upper deck cabins had been filled up first. Instead of beds, like normal cruise ships, the Antipodean Odyssey had comfortable red sofas and a coffee table with magazines, books, and the latest _Aussie News_ in each cabin.

We stashed our luggage in the overhead lockers, and I set Kooky up with a nice view of the river through the window. He gave me the side-eye.

"Just wait," I said. "By the end of the day you'll be roosting at Wattlegum."

He fluffed his feathers and turned his back on me.

Pippa pounced on this week's issue of _Celebrity Goss_ and disappeared behind it with her coffee. Evie picked up a tattered copy of _The Muldjewangk Melee_ by Diemen Pemulwuy and flipped through it, yawning. I eyed the newspaper but didn't touch it. I didn't want to read about the murders – I already knew each case back to front. Instead I stared at a picture of Lestat Monroe, lead singer of the Valiant Valkyries, as she waved at me from Pippa's magazine cover. She had a guitar slung around her neck and looked barely older than us.

"Pippa!" Chelsea Ang wrenched open the cabin door. She stopped, startled, for a moment before saying, "Oh, darling, I love your beanie thing."

"Thanks!"

Chelsea's surprise returned to her initial glee. "Did you see who's here? _Did you see?_ "

Chelsea's grandparents on her mother's side were British, and apparently that's all it took. Pippa threw her magazine aside, set her coffee on the table, and leaped to her feet. "Finally, someone understands what this really means!" she wailed, and held hands with Chelsea as they jumped up and down.

Evie slammed her book shut. "If she's going to be like this all year, kill me now."

I laughed as Chelsea said between joyous squeals, "Did you hear he's calling people to the bridge for interviews?"

Pippa stopped jumping immediately. "He what?"

"Yup," Chelsea said, "he already asked the Roseberg brothers to meet him there, and apparently he's got a list of students he wants to talk to."

The boat engine started with a thrum, and we pulled away from the jetty. Pippa fell back into her sofa, face paling. "Oh my god. Oh my god. What if he calls for me? What will I say?"

"Do you have any information about the murders?" Evie said, her lips quirking.

Pippa pressed a hand to her heart, apparently too deep in reverie to hear.

"This year is going to be amazing," Chelsea said, squishing up next to me. "I mean, so amazing. _Harry Potter._ It's totally going in my autobiography. You know, the one I'm going to write when I'm, like, forty and world famous."

Pippa made a little squeak of appreciation, but it might've had nothing to do with Chelsea's words and everything to do with her happy thoughts.

We sat there chatting about summer holidays and Harry Potter and subjects we were taking this year and Harry Potter and our plans for when we graduated and, oh yeah, Harry Potter, and it was only when Ruru hooted quietly that we noticed someone was at the door.

A second-year girl said, "I'm after Romy?" and Pippa seemed to realise what it was a microsecond before I did.

She gasped so violently it made her cough. While she was still spluttering, I put my hand up to identify myself and the second-year told me Harry Potter wanted to see me on the bridge.

I stood. I'd been expecting it, of course, but none of my friends had. They stared at me in wonder.

"Why would he want to interview you?" Evie said curiously. "Do you know anything about the murders?"

"Uh… no, not… not really."

"Do you think he'd sign my bra if I gave it to you?" Chelsea said.

"Probably not," I said.

"Can I come with you?" Pippa said.

"God, no."


	6. Harry Potter

**Harry Potter**

It was difficult moving through the ship towards the bridge. Everyone seemed to be out in the corridors, and when I reached the dining area in the middle, it was fuller than usual. There was a bar set up serving soft drinks and snacks, along with leather lounges for people to hang out. Normally this area had one or two groups at a time, but today it was crammed with what looked like almost the entire population of Wattlegum. The level of noise was louder than usual, and shriller, too. They sounded like the roosting tower.

I stopped at Abal Masri, who was perched on a barstool, swirling her straw in a glass of orange juice and ice. She looked fantastic as always, with glittering eyeshadow and deep red lipstick. A necklace of bronze-set pearls sat over her denim jacket, below her hijab.

"Why is everyone here?" I said.

She sucked lazily at her straw. "Harry Potter's on the boat."

"So?"

" _So_ they're all waiting in case he ventures out for a refreshment."

A surge of sympathy for Harry lurched through me. If people were this crazy in Australia, what were they like in Britain, where he was actually famous?

Abal sighed. "I just wanted to have a quiet drink."

"Why don't you go to the top deck? There'd be a fresh breeze out there, and I'm sure it'll be empty, considering everyone seems to be here."

Abal finished her drink, leaving a silhouette of lipstick on her straw, and slid off her stool. "True. Want to come?"

"Er… I would but…" I glanced towards the bridge. "I kind of have a meeting."

Abal lifted an eyebrow.

I shrugged, hoping to convey a look of cool disinterest. Abal watched me leave.

At last I made it to the bridge door. It had a wooden wheel set into the door, and a painting of an anchor.

I held my breath and knocked.

A set of eyes opened in the painted anchor, blinked several times as if it had been sleeping, then it opened a mouth and said in a deep voice, "State your name and business."

I had never been to the bridge before, so had never had to answer to a talking anchor, but being a part of the magical world for seven years had taught me a thing or two about taking what comes along in stride.

"Um… Romy Moon. I'm here for a meeting with Harry Potter?"

The anchor was quiet for a moment as if contemplating my answer, then said, "You may proceed," and the door swung open.

The bridge had blue carpet and big bay windows instead of walls, so the lush Tasmanian scenery bloomed before me.

The captain was a squat woman with her hair in a severe bun. She sat on a raised chair overlooking a dash of controls and instruments that beeped and flashed.

"He's below," she said without turning to me.

There was a staircase on the other side of her busy dash. I headed down into a lower deck I hadn't realised existed. The walls were still glass, and because we were now under the waterline, our view was an aquatic one.

I stopped at the bottom of the staircase and watched as yellow clouds stirred below, and large sticks projected from the riverbed. A fish with a jutted jaw darted out of the way.

"Not bad, is it?"

I turned. Harry was at a desk between teetering piles of document folders. He looked much more frazzled than he had this morning.

"If only I could enjoy it," he said, nodding at the scenery. "Instead I have to do paperwork. And I hate paperwork."

He rolled a quill between his fingers, staring blankly down at the unrolled parchment in front of him. There was a pitcher of water on the desk and a pile of chips and chocolates. It looked like he'd stocked up before coming down here. Everyone in the dining room would be devastated.

"No luck?" I said, taking a seat at the chair opposite him.

He sighed and dropped the quill to run his fingers through his hair, making it messier than it already was. "The Roseberg brothers gave me nothing new, but I never expected them to."

"I know how you feel. I've looked over the reports hundreds of times, and it still doesn't make any sense."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, lifting his glasses as he did so. "This is where Hermione comes in handy," he muttered to himself, before saying to me, "Right, we'll start from the beginning. Compare notes. Tell me everything you know about the case."

"A thirteen-year-old witch was stabbed in the northern Melbourne suburbs late December," I said. "Zaria Quinn. Her body was found in a park in the early hours of the morning and reported to muggle police. It was looked into by the Ministry, but the police found the killer using DNA evidence. He was a muggle by the name of Evan Morris, sixty-seven, retired, lollypop man, no prior charges."

"And the evidence was easy to find," Harry added. "He didn't try to cover it up."

"He confessed and was led to prison. The Ministry let the muggle police deal with it because it looked to be in their jurisdiction, but Zaria's father broke in using magic and killed Evan Morris in a passionate rage, so they had to step in. Then a week later there was an eerily similar murder to Zaria's in Adelaide."

Harry offered me a chocolate bar. "Fifteen-year-old wizard, Augustus Helion, found with a fatal blow to the back of the head in the gutter of a suburban street. Murderer actually walked into the muggle police station and confessed. Thirty-two-year-old cashier, severely distraught, gave all details of the crime. By the time the Australian Ministry went in to question her, she'd killed herself in grief."

"And when the third murder happened in Perth, the Ministry were ready," I said, crunching on the chocolate. "They sent Aurors undercover to work with muggle police. Because no magic was used, they needed DNA samples and the like. The killer was as easy to find as the others, and was mentally unstable when they arrived at his house. He was a police officer – he had a gun and kept saying he didn't know why he did it and threatening to shoot anyone if they tried to arrest him. The Aurors had to Obliviate him to calm him down and get him out of that place alive. They didn't do enough to damage his memory of the crime, but he had no idea what had happened minutes earlier. It was like his memory had been wiped right before he'd been Imperiused."

"And that's when the Aurors figured out the pattern," Harry said, pouring us both glasses of water. "The real killer was going around to each of the capital cities in Australia in a clockwise direction, finding a new muggle to Imperius every Saturday and sending them after a young witch or wizard." He passed me a glass and downed his own, slamming the glass on the table. The piles of document folders wobbled dangerously.

"That's when they came to me for help," I said.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's not right, sending children after killers."

"I'm the same age as you were when you fought at the Battle of Hogwarts."

He was quiet for a moment, regarding me. "I didn't feel young at the time," he said at last. "But from this side of thirty, it looks young. Too young."

"I'm the only one who can change my appearance at a moment's notice," I said. "Of age and willing to help, anyway. And I definitely want to help. This murderer is sick. Really sick."

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled, gaze intense. "What happens when the IMs catch you?"

I shuddered, thinking of the two I'd met so far. The IM in Darwin had gotten away, but I'd lured out the one in Brisbane and the one more recently in Sydney thanks to the Aurors figuring out the specifics of the killer's pattern. He always went for kids in the suburbs, always north of the city, always a certain distance from a natural water source. And he knew their home addresses, too, which meant at one stage he must've had access to the witch and wizard register at the Ministry.

"They… they enjoy it," I said. "It's like a sport. Hunting children. And both times they've cornered me, they've said, _Little witch, little witch, let me in_."

Harry nodded, once again staring at the parchment in front of him. He didn't look surprised or disgusted, but that was probably because he'd read the reports. "Why do you think they say that?"

I shrugged. "Because the killer's insane?"

"But what does it mean?"

"I don't want to think about what it means, actually. I've never let them get close enough to find out."

"It's from The Three Little Pigs." Harry massaged his temples. " _Little pig, little pig, let me in_."

" _Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin,_ " I finished. "Does that mean we're looking for a bearded guy? Because there are a lot of those about."

"Or someone who thinks he's a Big Bad Wolf," Harry said. He took his glasses off to drag a hand down his face. "Except none of the murders had any resemblance to fairy tales. You'd think if he got the IMs to say that for a reason, he'd do more to act out whatever fantasy is going on in his psychotic mind. So why is he getting them to say it?"

"I don't know. You're the expert."

"I'll take a duel over mind games any day." He eyed me. "Valentine said the most recent IM was prepared. He had handcuffs."

"Right. Maybe that means the killer Imperiused the IM earlier."

"Why did he change his pattern?"

"I don't know. Like I said, you're the expert."

Harry wrenched open a packet of chips more violently than necessary. We shared them as we discussed the case, trying to work out whether there was any relation between the victims (there wasn't, except for the fact they'd all been between the ages of thirteen and fifteen), or whether there was anything linking the IMs (there weren't – not that we could see, anyway). Sunlight splashed into the water when we passed through clearings. The light illuminated Harry's face, which was looking more tired than this morning.

The next murder was due to happen this coming Saturday. If the killer followed his pattern, he'd be headed to Canberra… except most teenagers from Canberra were on this very boat, headed to Wattlegum.

"How do you lure a PIM?" Harry said.

"The Aurors work out who the next target will be and give me a photo to copy. I turn into the person on the due date and hang around the local area. Loudly. Sometimes I pretend to be on my phone and mention magical words like Quiddich or talk about Wattlegum." I hesitated. "Do you think they're going to hit Canberra?"

"There's a high chance, yes," said Harry. "There's a boy, Sam Graves, who's being home-schooled, and he's in the right area. He's been evacuated, of course…" He hesitated. "I assume you'll be going there in his place?"

"Probably. Hey, there's something that's been bugging me. Why have these IMs been so easy to find? The killer's pattern isn't exactly hard to figure out."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "My experience is that there are two reasons killers have patterns: first, because the magic they're using requires certain rituals. Second, because they want to get caught."

"They _want_ to get caught? Why would anyone want to get caught?"

He shrugged. "To gloat, I suppose. Don't ask me about what goes on in the mind of a psychopath – I'm just the guy who has to catch them."

"Have you ever chased a killer like this one?"

He shook his head. "Children's deaths. Framed muggles. Weekly murders. This case horrifies me, and I'm not easily shaken. I want this guy caught, and I want him caught now."


	7. On the Path

**On the Path**

I wanted to spent the whole time talking to Harry about the murders – it was nice to finally have someone to share all my thoughts and fears with – but people would've gotten suspicious if I'd spent the next five or so hours in the interview, so I reluctantly got out of my chair and headed to the steps.

"Keep me informed," he said, already absorbed in the document files once more.

"You too," I said. When he glanced up, I added, "I need to know everything if I want to stay alive, right? Don't leave me out of things just because you think I'm a kid."

A slow smile spread across his face. "I remember feeling like that. Don't worry, I'll update you as soon as I find out anything new."

I nodded in acknowledgement and returned to the bridge, where the captain grunted a goodbye and I left for the main area. The hall was empty until the lounge area.

"There she is!"

People turned, swarming to me, peppering me with questions. What was Harry like? What did he ask me? Did I think he was going to solve the case? Where was he going to stay while in the castle? Did I get his autograph?

Abal Masri sat on the barstool, nursing another orange juice.

"What happened to your quiet drink?" I said over the chatter.

She raised her glass to me. "I opted for entertainment instead."

"Fair enough."

I squeezed through the crowd, muttering my apologies, and practically ran down the corridor to my cabin. Pippa leaped up the moment I returned.

"Well? Well? What was he like? Do you think he's going to solve the case? What did he ask you? Did you get his autograph?"

I groaned and slumped down in my chair. Kooky cocked his head, watching me. I dug into my suitcase and brought out a packet of raw bacon. He gulped it down happily while I gave vague answers to Pippa and Chelsea's questions.

Evie continued reading her book, but her gaze flicked up occasionally as I spoke.

The boat continued to cruise further up the river. The rugged terrain was thick with trees that twisted and hung over the river. The sunlight flittered in and out through the canopy. Colourful birds fluttered to higher branches at our approach, and a platypus slid into the water from the riverbank.

I sent Evie out to get lunch from the dining area, worried I'd get swamped with people again. Pippa and Chelsea rushed out with her in the hopes they'd catch a glimpse of Harry.

"Don't worry," Evie said when they returned laden with sausage rolls and vegetable pasties. "Harry's called a few people down now, and they've taken up all the attention."

They probably didn't have much to say. Harry had told me he'd call for people who lived in a twenty-kilometre radius from the murders in a desperate hope they'd seen something, but it wasn't likely. Anyone who'd been a witness would've told the Ministry by now.

"Maybe I could say I have information," Pippa said, peeling the top from her meat pie. "Then he'd have to interview me."

I groaned. "Please don't waste his time."

"You might have information," Chelsea said. "You just don't know it. Maybe you and he should have a good long chat about what you did over the summer holidays, just in case there's a detail you saw that might crack the case."

Pippa was getting her starry-eyed look. It was time to jump in. "Did you finish your Dreamtime homework?"

Pippa gulped. "Er…" She glanced at Evie, who had finally looked up from her book. "I started it, but I was having some trouble…"

"Get it out," Evie said, shutting her book. "Do it right now, while we're all watching."

"We don't want to see you getting eaten by the Bunyip," I added at Pippa's long-suffering sigh.

"I might," Chelsea said. "I've never seen the Bunyip eat anyone before."

She grinned as Pippa kicked her, and we spent the next hour or so going over the Dreamtime essay, helping Pippa finish hers and hurriedly getting out our own to make additions and changes. Evie's tattered book she'd picked up about the Muldjewangkturned out to be very useful. Apparently Diemen Pemulwuy knew plenty about Dreamtime magic, and had included the information in his book about the giant South Australian river monster.

Even though it was quite late, it was still bright when we pulled up at the Wattlegum jetty. The sun didn't set in the summer until at least eight thirty in Tasmania. It took longer to get off the ship than usual considering everyone was moving slowly, hoping to glimpse Harry Potter.

We walked off the jetty, lugging our belongings and pets, and started through the trees, up the winding path to the school. I glanced back to take in one last look at the Antipodean Odyssey. It gleamed, a shining shell in a green river, bobbing on the swell. Water sloshed along its hull, and it clacked against the jetty.

This would be the second-last time I had this view. The next time it would be coming home after graduating.

I inhaled a lungful of Eucalyptus-scented air, hoping to calm the dull ache that sat constantly around my sternum every time I had thoughts like this.

A group of students around the end of the jetty caught my attention. There was Harry, caught in the middle of them all. They were barely making any progress up the path. At that pace they wouldn't make it to Wattlegum until nightfall.

"Bah, look at them, like scavengers."

There was Ms Mathers, hurrying down the path from the school, glaring at the group surrounding Harry.

"Go on, you lot!" she hollered. "Get up to the school. Move!"

Ms Mathers wasn't the most intimidating-looking person. She was under five foot, which meant most of the students – even the first years – were taller than her. She made up for it by wearing platform boots, cute wedges, and teetering heels that made me worry about the state of her spine. Her silver hair was cut short and curled around her face like a fancy frame.

She was Aboriginal, of course, but she'd once threatened to expel a boy for calling her Aunty Mathers. Aunty Shelly could be the world's aunt for all she minded, but no one at the school was related to Ms Mathers, and she liked to remind them of it.

Ms Mathers pushed past the four of us to hurry to Harry and his fanclub. "Go on, shoo!"

She had her wand out, and the group scattered, laughing as they ran up the hill towards the school.

"Sorry, Mr Potter," she said when they were gone. Her voice travelled clearly up the slope. "I'm afraid they've come over all star struck."

He grinned. "Please call me Harry. And that's all right, there's something quite satisfying about hearing school children saying _howyargarin?_ and _'scarinon?_."

I giggled. His attempted Australian accent was terrible.

"I think that was supposed to be 'How are you going?' and 'What's going on?'" Pippa whispered, giggling as well.

We had slowed our pace so we remained about twenty metres in front of them. Ms Mathers didn't shoo us away, though. Kooky let out a trill that turned into a laugh, and several kookaburras in the trees echoed his call.

"I can't tell you how much we appreciate you being here," Ms Mathers said.

"Of course," Harry said. "I want to catch this killer as much as you do."

I couldn't turn around – I had to watch were I was going in case I slipped on a gumnut. The cursed things were everywhere.

The trees grew bigger here than I'd ever seen them. Swamp gums stretched to the sky, their buttress-style roots coated in moss. The rocks were covered in moss, too. Green, green, the world was green down here.

"The area's beautiful," Harry said, echoing my thoughts. "And I'm keen to see how your school differs to the one I went to. No one's wearing robes here, for a start."

"Robes are old fashioned, not to mention impractical," Ms Mathers said. "We have a regular school uniform that changes when the weather does. You European folk are too fond of tradition."

"Do you have houses? And a Quiddich pitch? And school ghosts?"

I smiled to myself. He sounded as excited as a first year.

"Yes, we have houses, but none of that segregation stuff I hear about in British schools. The students sit where they like in the dining hall, go to classes that best suits their timetable, and sleep in dorms according to age and gender." I heard her sniff. "I've read a report on the Hogwarts houses before. A sorting hat? Honestly. Our houses are mixed with students of all kinds of abilities and personalities."

"But if you don't have a sorting hat, how do you sort them?"

"A sorting kangaroo."

" _Really?_ "

"No," Ms Mathers said with a snort. "It's according to enrolment numbers."

"Oh." Harry sounded embarrassed, and I might've felt sorry for him if I wasn't too busy snickering with the others.

Maybe Pippa was right. Having him in the school might be fun, after all.


	8. Welcome to Wattlegum

**Welcome to Wattlegum**

The slope grew steeper, and we caught glimpses of Wattlegum through the treetops. It sat on a hill overlooking the forest, invisible to satellites and repellent to hiking muggles. I moved faster in my keenness to get a better view, leaving Harry and Ms Mathers behind. My friends hurried to keep pace with me.

We rounded a curve in the path, and there it was – my beautiful, stone-walled school, moss growing in clumps, ferns peeking out through the cracks. The roof was powder blue, and two round turrets stood at the northwest and southwest corners.

The first time I had seen the school, I was ten, turning eleven that year. I'd already witnessed magical things thanks to my morphing abilities and accidental spells, and the Antipodean Odyssey had been a majestic surprise, but I had grown up in a muggle household, attending a muggle primary school until that point.

To come upon this… well. It was something else. To clap my eyes upon a real castle hidden in the depths of the Tasmanian forest, to clamber up those mud-caked, slippery stone steps for the first time, to see the dining hall in all its glamour, and teachers using wands to perform various menial tasks…

I realised I had never imagined magic as _magical_ until that moment.

My breath rushed from me in a whoosh as a smile crept across my face. I still had a year to go, and I would make sure to enjoy every moment.

"There it is," Evie said with a tinge of dread.

Kooky jabbed his beak through the bars of his cage. I only just moved my leg in time. "Calm down, Kooky! A little longer, and then I'll let you out, okay?"

I always had to settle Kooky into the roosting tower – he was terrible-tempered, and very antisocial. He was especially narky at newcomers, which meant any first years who brought birds meant added agitation for him. It usually took a bit of yelling, a bit of waving my arms, and a cut of bacon to appease him, and only once I was certain he was getting on with the other birds did I feel safe to leave him.

The welcome ceremony had already commenced at the foot of the main staircase. Aunt Shelly had, as always, invited family from the mainland to perform a traditional dance to start the new year. The digeridoo droned beneath the sharp clack of the tapping sticks, and three dancers moved around a small campfire that smelled of greenwood and sweet herbs. The dancers moved in respect to various Australian animals, the dust stirring and creating cloudy ghosts of the creatures to move with the dancers, and the digeridoo changed texture and rhythm to match the animal. I'd had nightmares of the digeridoo's eerie version of a dingo's howl for weeks in my first year here.

"Crumbs, there's Mr Stone," Pippa said, ducking behind Chelsea before we could reach the main crowd. "Hide me!"

Mr Stone was the Charms teacher – a shrivelled old man who walked with a cane and didn't mind whacking people on the legs with it when he wanted them to move out of the way. Half the time he forgot what he was teaching, and often demanded we hand up homework he'd never assigned. He refused to retire, and Ms Mathers felt obligated to keep him, considering he'd been there longer than any of the staff.

"Why are you hiding from Mr Stone?" Cheslea said, trying to look over her shoulder at Pippa. "He probably can't see past his own nose by now, anyway."

Pippa refused to get up from her crouch. "That's right, I forgot you weren't with us when it happened."

Evie and I laughed as we remembered what had caused Pippa's sudden panic.

"There was a massive cockroach in the entrance hall while the seventh years were lining up for the graduation ceremony last year," I said, and Pippa shuddered. "Pippa freaked out and whacked it with a stick, only the stick turned out to be Mr Stone's cane. He'd left it to change into the ceremony robes in the alcove, and when he came back it was covered in cockroach guts."

"So of course all the seventh years told him it was me," Pippa said, sulking. "Dirty rats." She peeked out around Chelsea to check where he was. "He didn't manage to catch me before we hopped on the boat on the way home, but I just know he's spent all summer cooking up some horrible punishment for me."

"You should've gotten it out of the way last year, then," Evie said.

"I was hoping he might've forgotten by the time we got back!"

But it was clear he hadn't forgotten, unless he was searching for another misbehaving student in the crowd as people milled towards the entrance hall.

I patted Pippa on the shoulder as I passed. "Tough luck, Pips. I'll see you later. I have to put Kooky in the roosting tower before he pecks my leg off."

"Hide me, hide me, please!" Pippa said to Chelsea and Evie as I walked away.

The roosting tower was in the southwest turret. I had only just started up the small staircase to the back entrance when an invisible force had me flying through the air. I yelled, my luggage and Kooky's cage slipping from my grip, and I hit the ground hard a good twenty metres from the castle.

Kooky's cage burst open when it hit the ground. He fluttered up, making all sorts of angry noises, and flew to the roosting tower on his own.

Great. He'd probably start a fight the moment he got there.

"Romy Moon, what on _Earth_ do you think you're doing?" Miss Depraysie, the Alchemy teacher, hurried over and helped me up.

I couldn't answer. I felt like someone had punched me in the solar plexus. Harry and Ms Mathers hurried around the corner too. When they saw me, they both stopped.

"Romy?" Ms Mathers said in surprise.

I finally caught my breath, but continued to clutch my aching ribs. "Have… bad-tempered… kookaburra. Tried… putting… him… away."

Harry frowned at the small set of steps I'd tried to climb. "I put an Impediment jinx on them yesterday, but they weren't supposed to have that much of an impact."

"Aunt Shelly would've added her Dreamtime magic to the jinx," Ms Mathers said while Miss Depraysie dusted me down.

"She did tell students not to enter the castle until the welcome ceremony was over," Miss Depraysie said.

"Romy was one of the last to arrive – she wouldn't have heard it," Ms Mathers said.

Harry was still staring at the distance between the castle steps and me, as if mentally measuring how far I'd been thrown. "What's Dreamtime magic, and how can I get some?" He frowned. "Wait… isn't it Indigenous Australian spirituality?"

"Muggle Dreamtime is," Ms Mathers said. "A parallel time stream to our own, when the universe was created, and society values and laws were laid down." She used her wand to repair the zipper of my suitcase, which had broken open on landing. "But the Dreamtime we use here is different. Magic from the deepest earth. You right, Romy?"

My hip ached from where I'd landed on it, but I'd live. "Yep. Although maybe give me a list of all the other defensive magic you've put on the castle, okay?"

I glanced up at the roosting tower, where I was certain I could hear the faint sounds of a bird fight.

If my welcome to Wattlegum was anything to go by, this year promised to be unexpected at the very least.


	9. An Alarming Incident

**An Alarming Incident**

I left Kooky to work things out on his own, hoping he had learned to be social after six long years of trying to teach him to play nice, and returned to Pippa and the others as the welcoming ceremony came to a close. Everyone started up the steps into the castle.

"What happened?" Evie said as I limped up to them.

"Security's gone up," I muttered, still rubbing my sore ribs.

Miss Depraysie was talking to Harry as they headed towards the stairs, then Harry stopped and stared right at Pippa. She let out a little squeak.

"Is he looking at me?" she hissed.

Harry kept staring, then his lips quirked and he headed over.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

I was worried Pippa was going to pass out from hyperventilating.

"Hey," Harry said, poking at her ridiculous knitted beanie. "This reminds me of something my friend used to knit when we were at school." He laughed. "It's cute. Did you make it yourself?"

Pippa opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Chelsea looked equally dumbstruck.

"It's the Holyhead Harpies' colours," I said helpfully.

Harry flicked one of the hanging bobbles. "I noticed. Nice job. I'll have to tell my friend about it next time we speak."

Then he swept away, returning to his conversation with Miss Depraysie.

Pippa clutched my arm. "Quick get me a pensieve. I need to relive that conversation over and over for the rest of my life."

"What conversation?" Evie said with a smirk. "You didn't say anything."

Ky Green, I noticed, was frowning, first at Pippa then at Harry as he climbed the stairs.

Chelsea left to tell her other friends about the amazing moment she'd shared with Harry Potter, and the remaining three of us hurried through the entrance hall, but –

"Pippa Blakely."

Pippa flinched. We'd forgotten about Mr Stone.

He stumped up to us, leaning heavily on his cane, and stared down at her. "A word, please."

Pippa moaned lowly and followed him off to the alcove while I took her luggage and walked with Evie into the dining hall. She had barely set Ruru's cage onto one of the seven long benches when a sound echoed through the castle. It was a frantic alarm of some sort, like from an expensive car when someone leans against it. It screeched and beeped so loudly a few of the first years put their hands over their ears.

Harry and Ms Mathers pushed through students, practically flying as they left the dining hall. I moved to follow them then imagined Gordo, his neck vein bulging as he yelled at me not to blow my cover.

Instead I reached into my jeans' wand pocket (made specially by Mistress Mudlark's Witchy Designs) and clutched my wand, mentally checking through the spells I could use if someone attacked. I didn't know what the alarm meant, and I hardly imagined someone was going to run in here and attack with a bunch of teachers around, but it helped to be sure.

Everyone else was looking around for a potential intruder or staring fearfully at the entrance. The teachers were on alert, wands out.

After a long few minutes, the alarm stopped. Aunt Shelly lowered her wand. "Finally," she yelled. She always yelled everything. I doubted she had a volume button.

Harry and Ms Mathers returned to the hall.

"What was that about?" Aunt Shelly demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," Ms Mathers said, puffing. Her curls had started to frizz. "Everything's in order. Students, please take your seats."

I tried to catch Harry's eye as he passed, but his attention didn't fall to me. Despite what Ms Mathers had said, he didn't look relaxed. In fact, he kept glancing at the exits and around at the other teachers as if searching for someone or something.

Pippa returned as we were settling down. "What happened?" she said, pulling off her beanie and pouring us each a glass of water from one of the silver jugs on the table.

"Some kind of alarm went off. Must've been a mistake, though," Evie said, taking her cup. "What happened with Mr Stone?"

Pippa narrowed her eyes at the teacher as he headed up to the top teacher's table. "He's given me detention every day this week. Can you believe it? First week back, and already I'm in deep trouble. If my mum sends me a howler for this, I'll never forgive him."

"You're lucky that's all," Evie said. "I was half-expecting to have to call for Healer Thwaite once Mr Stone was done with you."

Pippa buried her head in her arms on the table and continued to moan about detention as I watched Harry take a seat with the teachers. Miss Depraysie was still trying to talk to him, but he was no longer interested their conversation. His gaze scanned the hall, still searching for… what? I wished I could ask him.

Behind the teachers, nine massive arched recesses sat upon a marble stage, which in turn was set on three columns. In each recess was a sculpture of the last nine principals of Wattlegum. They all looked grand in their robes, with crowds adorning their heads, and they occasionally waved at the students, although they were too large to be capable of much else in their individual nooks.

"Oh good, she's getting up," Pippa said, lifting her head as Ms Mathers stood. "Let's get this out of the way so we can eat. I'm starving."

Ms Mathers cleared her throat. The noise in the hall didn't die down. She called for attention. The talk continued.

"OI!" she yelled, and everyone finally shut up. She glared at Andy Snippet, who was whispering to his friend two tables across, and it was only when the whole hall was silent that she spoke. "First of all, welcome to first years, and welcome back to the rest of you. I hope you had a refreshing break."

Pippa stared longingly at the place where her plate would appear once the speech was over. She had already tuned out.

"I have a quick list," Ms Mathers said, unrolling a sheet of parchment on the table. It looked long. Her beginning-of-year speech always was.

"First up, I want to acknowledge the loss of four youngsters over the holidays. Two of those belonged to this school. Our hearts go out to friends and family of Hyacinth Roseberg and Augustus Helion. Be aware, as I'm sure you are now, that we've done everything to ensure your safety this year, including extra security measures. Watch out for each other and use your common sense. We have the best Auror in recent history protecting the school this year –" she inclined her head at Harry "– but that doesn't give you the right to slack off. Stay alert, and report any suspicious findings to me or Harry Potter immediately."

Then she went through the usual – school rules, expected standards of behaviour, reminders about putting out best effort into our homework and Y.O.W.I.E.s, warnings about the Bunyip in the creek, dates for all the sports trials, dates for visiting the local magical town, Djurrong… I tapped my fingers beneath the table, wishing she'd hurry up and finish, so then we could hurry up and eat, and after that, hopefully, I could hurry up and find out from Harry what the alarm had been about.

While she talked, birrups hopped around us, taking our luggage and pets to carry them up to our rooms. Harry finally tore his gaze away from the exits to watch them in surprise. I suppose he hadn't seen the one-legged, furry blue helpers – they weren't in common mythical literature, and were only found in this area of Tasmania. They helped Mrs Pondly the caretaker and Mrs Reiner the gardener where they could.

"And don't forget, seventh years," Ms Mathers added, finally rolling up the parchment and catching my attention again, "you may do your Apparition test any time we visit Djurrong after your eighteenth birthday. Make sure you book before we go down."

"Yes!" Pippa whispered, cheering up. "I can take my test on the first visit!"

Her birthday was just over a month away.

"Have you been practising over the holidays?" Evie asked as the teachers stood to wave their wands, and plates of barbequed sausages, steaks, marinated chicken, and salad flew out from the back room and onto the tables. The first feast of each term was the only time the teachers cooked for us – the remaining meal preparations would be divided between year groups.

Pippa helped herself to a slab of kangaroo meat. "Nah. It'll be fine. I'm sure I can just wing it."

I exchanged a glance with Evie. Winging an Apparition test? She'd probably end up with pieces of her all over the bloody country.


	10. Apparition

**Apparition**

We were given our timetables after a dessert of lamingtons and apple pie and homemade old English toffee ice cream, and the first years were assigned their houses. Harry was still shaking his head as Ms Mathers called out whether they'd be in "Wandjina", "Adnoartina", "Mimi", or "Pioial" as they passed on their way to bed.

"Crazy," I heard him mutter as I neared him on my way through to the stairs. "Where's the interhouse rivalry, the drama, the _magic_?"

"You're asking where the magic is at a magic school?" I said, smirking.

He raised his eyebrows. "You don't know what you're missing."

"Annalise Tripton, you're in Wandjina," Ms Mathers said, then added to Harry, "Oh yes, Harry, I'm well aware what we've escaped, thank you very much. Move along, Romy."

I glanced at Harry silently, hoping he'd figure out I wanted to ask him about the alarm, but Ms Mathers said, "Harry Potter doesn't need students gawking. Now move along." She jabbed me with her wand to make a point.

I huffed and kept going. Ms Mathers knew perfectly well that I was part of the investigation. Although I suppose her order was a ruse – there were still plenty of people around, and they'd probably get suspicious if I wandered away with Harry.

"Ooo, look, we have the whole afternoon off tomorrow," Pippa said, scanning her timetable. Her face fell. "Although we have double Charms with Mr Stone first up."

She peeked at my timetable, then at Evie's. When she saw Evie's, her eyes widened. "Full enough for you?"

"I haven't figured out what I want to do yet," Evie said, sighing as she looked over her classes. "I can't specialise, so I need to cram in as much as possible."

I looked at it, too. "Wow, Evie."

She folded it and shoved it in her pocket. "I know."

The seventh year girls' dorm was on the third floor in a wide room overlooking the river. The birrups had taken our luggage up and set everything in the centre of the room so we could choose our beds. Because I'd lingered by Harry downstairs, we were too late to snag one by a window.

All the beds were beautiful, with a polished Jarrah frame and diaphanous curtains that draped from a centre point to the posters to the floor like a circus tent. The material might've been shimmery and sheer, but it allowed complete privacy when pulled around the bed.

"I'm so full," Pippa moaned, flopping on her bed. She patted her stomach, which seemed to have grown twice its usual size over dinner. "I shouldn't have had that second helping of apple pie."

"Never regret, Pippa," Evie said, pulling her toothbrush from her suitcase. "Stand by your decisions. Be proud of them."

Pippa only moaned in reply.

I grabbed my toothbrush too. In fourth year Evie had tried a teeth-brushing spell that had filled her mouth with suds and overflowed. The entire bathroom floor had a coating of bubbly fluoride before I'd found Aunt Shelly to reverse the spell. She'd cackled loudly and told Evie it was great to see her experimenting – the best inventors were ones who made tonnes of mistakes. Even so, no one in our year had ever dared try a tooth-brushing spell again.

We'd finished in the shared bathrooms, returned, and pulled on our pyjamas by the time Pippa finally felt well enough to sit up.

"You really should practice Apparition before the test," Evie said, climbing into bed.

"I can't do it," Abal Masri said from her window-side bed. "I've tried and tried, but all that happens is I turn in a circle. I haven't even gotten my Ls yet."

"Really?" Pippa said. "But the Learner's test is only on the theory."

Abal shrugged. "I guess I don't even understand the theory."

I was bursting to tell them – it wouldn't hurt to say it, probably, as long as I didn't mention I was already on my Ps.

"I can do it."

Everyone in hearing range turned to me. I couldn't contain my grin.

"You can't," said Evie, half scornful, half in awe.

"I can."

"You couldn't do it last year," Pippa said. "How could you possibly have learned over the summer?"

"I did."

It had taken rigorous training and a lot of tears and a terrible splinch, but I had passed my Ps before my first sting, and it was ridiculously unfair that I couldn't tell anyone. We had talked about Apparition ever since that first long walk down to Djurrong almost six years ago, wishing we could just Apparate there instead.

"Show us," Abal said.

I stood in the centre of the room. Most girls had stopped what they were doing to watch. I grinned at them, concentrated on a spot at the end of the room, stepped, and turned.

Nothing happened.

I frowned and tried it again.

Nothing.

Stacey Fern giggled. When Evie and Pippa glared at her, she said, "Sorry. She looks kind of silly, though."

And then everyone started giggling.

What the hell? Why couldn't I Apparate?

"Romy."

Everyone jumped as Ms Mathers stalked into the room, her voice as sharp as a whip. I flinched, even though technically I hadn't done anything wrong. She beckoned for me with a crooked finger.

Uh oh. Since when was it against the rules to Apparate? Last year's seventh graders did it all the time once they'd passed their tests.

I followed her quietly out of the dorm, but rather than tell me off, she continued walking.

"Where are we going?" I said.

She didn't answer. Harry met us halfway down the corridor. He glanced up and down the hallway, got out his wand, then whispered a spell. An odd wind rushed across me.

"Just checking," he said.

I shivered. "For what?"

"If anyone else is here."

I gave a pointed look at the empty stone corridor.

"Not everyone stays visible," Harry said, but didn't elaborate. "Listen, Romy, that alarm wasn't a mistake. I'd set it up for anyone trying to use the Floo Network in the castle without permission from your principal."

"I hadn't given anyone clearance to come through this evening," Ms Mathers said.

"So someone was trying to get in?"

"Yes." Harry looked grim. "My defensive spell would've sent them bouncing back to wherever they came from, but that was definitely a test of our security. Hopefully with that and the Apparition Impediment spell, we'll be able to –"

"The what?"

"I've got a spell on the castle to prevent anyone from Apparating or Disapparating anywhere in the grounds –"

"You _what_?" I put my hands on my hips. "Didn't I tell you to give me a list of all new security in the castle?"

"I was getting to it. I've had a busy day, you know."

I groaned. "What about when we visit Djurrong? What about when mums and dads want to drop in for a visit? What about when teachers need to fetch some rare plant or animal for classes? _What about all the seventh years practicing for Apparition tests_?"

"It's a pain, I know," Ms Mathers said, grimacing. "But it's needed. We were one of the few schools left in the world that didn't have all that security in the first place. We used to be safe." She let out a heavy sigh. "Not anymore. Parents and teachers will have to Apparate and Disapparate outside the grounds, and students will be taken in groups to practice for their tests. It's the only way, I'm afraid."

No wonder I couldn't show off in front of my friends. I had been dying to do that since I'd first Apparated.

"Wait – maybe that's who it was who set off the Floo Network alarm," I said. "Just a parent who'd tried to drop something someone had forgotten off at the school, realised they couldn't Apparate, and tried Floo powder instead."

"We sent out notes before term started," Ms Mathers said, but she looked uncertain. "Knowing parents, some wouldn't have read it, though."

Harry's expression was set in determination. "Even so, I'm going to patrol tonight."

"I wouldn't bother," Ms Mathers said. "Romy's probably right."

"Doesn't matter. I'm going to patrol anyway." Harry said goodnight and walked away.

I turned to Ms Mathers, eyebrows raised. "He really takes this seriously. After all his security, you'd think he'd be able to sleep at night."

"His eldest son's almost the age of the targeted victims," Ms Mathers said, watching his retreating back. "I don't think he's slept right since he found out about the killer." She sighed. "I don't think any of us have."


	11. First Week Back

**First Week Back**

The first week back was about as intense as expected. Mr Stone picked on Pippa worse than ever in Charms, and her holiday brain meant she couldn't perform a single spell to his liking, earning her an extra week of detention. Our two Herbology classes were separated over Monday and Friday, so by the time the week was over, our freshly-planted Hand-Eating Protea was already blooming thanks to dragon dung fertiliser and a growth spell. Our Transfiguration, Potions, Alchemy, and Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers piled the homework on us, and I almost got my face bitten off in Magical Creature Biology by a Drop Bear. Luckily I'd just had Advanced First Aid on Tuesday, so I was able to reduce the bloodied tooth marks long enough to get to Healer Thwaite. Aunt Shelly received everyone's Dreamtime essays, and the Bunyip remained hungry.

Through all of it, the teachers kept reminding us that this was our final year, that for the first time Indo-Pacific examiners would be testing us rather than our teachers, that our entire futures relied on our results…

By the end of the week, Evie was looking quite sickly and even Pippa attempted to do all her homework.

I was doing worse than anyone, but I couldn't let it show. I had Saturday to worry about – along with homework, I had advanced defence lessons with Ms Mathers, and I had to practice turning into thirteen-year-old Sam Graves whenever I had a free moment to myself. Worse, Kooky had started three fights with other students' birds and was now no longer allowed to sleep in the roosting tower.

"How am I supposed to tell a kookaburra he's not allowed to sleep where he always sleeps?" I demanded when the Magical Creature Biology teacher, Mrs Latimer, broke the news.

"I don't care," Mrs Latimer said, scowling behind her eyepatch. "But you ain't putting that bad-tempered bird back up there with the others. Audrey Fisher's mudlark has a broken wing because of him."

So I coaxed Kooky down in the pretence of wanting to send a letter, tried to put him in a cage (suffering several scratches across my arms in the process), and set him out into the forest, only to see him fly back to the roosting tower that evening.

"You know," said Pippa, waving her wand over the barbeque on Friday night to make the flames dance higher, "I don't need to finish school. I could just head off to Britain and start work straight away."

The seventh years had done breakfast duty on Wednesday and lunch duty on Thursday, but this was our first dinner duty for the year. Cooking for a few hundred people was a lot more fun with magic, and cleaning was even easier.

"How do you start being a music manager, exactly?" Evie said, making slabs of uncooked meat fly through the air and hover over the fire.

"Get into the business, meet and greet, rub shoulders. All that kind of stuff."

Evie and I exchanged glances.

"I always had the impression you had to know someone to get anywhere in that line of work," I said, trying to sound casual. Pippa always got upset with us when we weren't one hundred percent supportive of her career aspiration.

"I have an uncle who owns a club," Pippa said. "Right near Diagon Alley. He can introduce me to bands, I can meet _their_ managers… it'll all be fine."

It sounded vague, but Evie and I smiled and nodded. Our efforts didn't matter anyway – she was humming to herself, watching a couple of seventh year boys have a pretend duel over their unchopped salad vegetables. Ky Green was among them.

"Oi!" Aunt Shelly yelled at them from her chintz chair on the grass. "If you make me get up, you're all doing dishes for a week."

The boys hastily returned to their duties.

Evie and Pippa laughed, but something tugged on my jumper sleeve, and I turned to find a blue wisp of smoke leading into the forest. The sun was setting, and it was getting shadowy and gloomy in there, but I thought I saw the outline of Harry among the trees.

"I'll be back," I said, slipping my wand into my pocket. "Make sure my sausages don't burn."

"Where are you going?" Pippa called after me.

"Just checking on Kooky. He hates being alone in the forest."

Actually, he was probably back in the roosting tower, but Pippa didn't know that.

I jogged into the shadows, following the blue smoke until I reached Harry by a patch of liverwort. The twittering of twilight birds was near-deafening. We wouldn't be overheard.

"Cool spell."

"Thanks. I made that one myself."

I hadn't seen him much this week, considering we'd both been so busy.

He studied me in the fading light. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

I dug my hands into my jeans pockets. "Sure. No problem."

"And you have a plan?"

"Lure the muggle. Wait for Gordo to Obliviate them. Take them in for questioning."

Harry dragged a hand along his stubble. "About this Obliviating thing… Maybe get Gordo – er, Mr Gordon to stun them this time."

"We tried that, but they kind of end up attempting a self-destruction thing. They're agitated and likely to kill anyone in range if they can. Obliviating is the only way to save them from themselves."

"Yes, but I have a theory that whatever the killer's doing to their minds is immediately wiped once you use the Olibivation spell. That's why you can never get any information out of them."

I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. "How do you expect us to do that when they try to kill themselves?"

" _Petrificus totalus_."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Er… the Full Body-Bind curse? How exactly are we supposed to question them when they're frozen?"

He grinned. "I have a spell that unfreezes the head only."

"Okay, that is awesome." I hesitated. "Although they'll still be Imperiused."

"Hopefully it won't stop them from answering questions. I'm sure the Ministry can figure out a way to extract the information."

"You mean hurt them."

"Not necessarily." He frowned at my expression. "Trust me, I'm not going to allow any Ministry _ever_ to abuse their powers, even if they believe it's for the 'greater good'. I've been subjected to enough of that."

"Except you won't be in the Ministry. You have no control over what they do and don't do."

"I have plenty of control. They want me here – they won't be doing anything I don't like." He watched as a couple of seventh years shrieked. It looked like one of the boys had done an Aguamenti spell to put out the barbeques and was now soaking all the girls for good measure as well. Aunt Shelly's bellows could easily be heard through the chittering birds.

"I like that you have to cook and clean yourselves," he said.

I snorted. "Why, didn't you have to?"

"No, we had house elves do that stuff for us."

"Wait… you didn't cook and clean at school?"

He grinned sheepishly.

"Wow," I said. "How does the British magical population even function?"


	12. Graves

AN: Thank you so much for reading. Just a quick announcement - I'll be updating once a week rather than every two days, just to give myself some breathing space.

 **Graves**

A bird flew at my face and whipped away at the last moment. I jolted, my heart racing.

"You all right there, Moon?" Gordo said with a grin. He patted my shoulder. "A little jumpy, aren't we?"

"I'm fine," I said, knocking on the Graves' door in the hopes of hiding my breathlessness.

Truth was, I wasn't fine. I'd had a terrible night's sleep, punctuated by faceless nightmares.

Gordo's smile faded. "Seriously, Romy, if you're not all right to do this, tell me. We can't have you anything but one hundred percent ready."

"I'm fine. Look, I've got my Ministry-issued gumboots on and everything." They were brown this time instead of pink, considering I was wearing the body of a thirteen-year-old boy.

Gordo scratched his goatee, scowling at me. "For your parents' sake, tell me the truth."

"I'm _fine_."

Gordo opened his mouth to argue, but the door opened and a dark-haired woman peeped out. She was in her dressing gown, and holding her wand.

He switched effortlessly to his professional voice. "Good morning, Mrs Graves," he said. He nodded to her wand. "Glad to see you're taking security seriously. Sorry for the early hour. Can we come in?"

It was definitely early. Way too early. While the sun had already come up in Tasmania because it was further south, the horizon was only just beginning to lighten here. The sky was turning a satiny orange and blue.

Mrs Graves's gaze fell to me and she gasped quietly. "Goodness, it looks just like him."

 _It_.

Sometimes people could speak so thoughtlessly about Metamorphmagi.

"Can we come in?" Gordo said again, glancing around at the silent street. A cat slunk beneath a car in the opposite driveway, watching the bird that had swooped at me.

Mrs Graves opened the door wider, and we hurried inside.

"Thank you for being so accommodating," Gordo said as she closed the door. "The Ministry is grateful for your cooperation."

She still hadn't taken her gaze from me.

"This is Luna," Gordo said.

Luna was my code name – I'd chosen it myself. We used it for anyone who wasn't directly involved with solving the case. The less people who knew my real identity, the better.

"Hello," Mrs Graves said. Her voice croaked a little. She cleared her throat and nodded down the hall to the lit kitchen. "Tea or coffee?"

It was an old place, with eighties-style décor, smelling of that powdery carpet freshener Mum used after Kooky made a mess. The kitchen had exposed brick and grubby lino. Considering the family was magical, I'd have thought they could've just used a spell to clean the place.

"Sorry," said Mrs Graves, yawning as she poured the drinks. "I haven't slept well since finding out about the killer, and not at all since you told me my little Sammy was next in line."

I sipped my tea in silence. Here I was judging their home when the poor woman was out of her mind with worry.

"Samuel is safe with us, Mrs Graves," Gordo said. "By the end of the day we should have new leads on the killer, and hopefully get him locked away as quickly as possible."

"Mum, honestly, who gets up at this hour?"

A boy about my age walked into the kitchen in sleeping shorts and a rumpled navy tee shirt that looked like he'd just pulled it on. His hair was a mess, but even still, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. Bulging biceps included.

He stopped and stared at me. "Sammy?"

"Luna," Mrs Graves said. "She's a Metamor-mor-morphmagus." She gave another shuddering yawn halfway through the word. "She's here to help catch the killer. And this is Bran Gordon from the Ministry. This is my eldest son, Daniel."

Daniel yawned as well, nodded a hello, and got himself a mug. "Got enough coffee leftover?"

We stood around the kitchen bench in silence, sipping our drinks.

"What's the plan?" Daniel said after draining the remainder of his coffee. The sun was filtering through the window now, shining off the plastic white stools and gleaming on the coffee pot.

"Luna's going to hang around that nearby grassland reserve, making her presence known. The killer will probably send someone after her when it's quiet, maybe in the afternoon or evening when not many people are around. I'll be close by, watching for any suspicious activity, capture the IM – er, Imperiused Muggle – and bring him or her in for questioning."

"But you've already done that with the other muggles," Mrs Graves said. "And you still haven't gotten information. What makes you think this time will be any different?"

"The killer's going to slip up eventually. Some clue will help us catch him, don't worry." He sounded very authoritative and sure of himself. It was totally different when we were out on the field and he was yelling at me.

Mrs Graves sniffed. "I've been steering clear of all muggles now. Never know who you can trust anymore."

"Ah, Mum, you can't be like that." Daniel patted her shoulder. "And don't worry about today. These two are professionals. They've probably put a whole bunch of dark witches and wizards away, right?"

"Right," I said.

Gordo gave me the side-eye but didn't contradict me. The Graves' didn't know I was a teenager. If they'd jumped to the assumption that I was a fully-qualified Auror, well, that was their mistake, wasn't it?


	13. The Next Victim

**The Next Victim**

I ventured out alone at seven a.m.. I couldn't handle sitting around when there was work to be done.

The grasslands were exactly that – flat grounds with brown grass halfway up my – well, Sam Graves's – shin, and several gnarled trees. I stepped over a low chain link fence and scuffed at the dirt, keeping up the appearance of a wandering, bored kid. Stones flew further than they should – shoot, I was still wearing the stunner gumboots. I kept my scuffing to a minimum and continued onwards. Gordo would stick around the houses on the other side of the road so he would blend in better. I had promised to keep in sight of him. His threat from last week lingered in my head. He'd wanted to take me off the assignment completely after I'd gone off on my own. Surely I was too valuable to the Ministry to be taken off the case, but he'd looked pretty serious about it. I'd better not push his buttons this time.

I yawned, fighting to keep away the flashes of last night's nightmares. I was probably just uncomfortable because this time was based on vague guesses. The last few times I'd gone out on a sting, the Ministry had had a fair idea of what to expect. Now, students were back at Wattlegum, Canberra was a different kind of capital city because it wasn't on the coast, and after the handcuffs last time, who knew what the killer had planned for today?

The sun rose higher in the sky. It was a cool day, a little breezy. The grass whispered across the reserve. Some people came out with their dogs, others with their families. They were all PIMs to me. Once I might've felt safe, but the IMs had attacked me in daylight before, surrounded by people. It didn't matter to them.

Actually, it didn't matter to the _killer_. What did he care if the Imperiused Muggles got caught?

Mrs Graves's new view on muggles wasn't a surprise. I'd come across the sentiment a few times since the killings started. Witches and wizards now eyed muggles with wariness bordering on suspicion. One older man in Arbour Alley had even mentioned he was considering moving to a magic-only community to get away from the muggles. It was totally ruining the magical-muggle relations.

My friends would be awake by now. They thought I was going to Djurrong for special Metamorphmagus tutoring, and expected me to be gone all day.

Meanwhile Evie would probably be dragging Pippa out for a kayak down the river this morning, or making sure she'd finished all her homework for the week. Ms Mathers had said something about taking some of the students out later today for Apparition practice. Hopefully Evie was making Pippa sign up for that.

And the sports trials were on this weekend. I wasn't one for team games, but it was always fun sitting at a Quiddich match with a cup of hot chips soaked in vinegar, or watching the amazing stunts done for Scrudge (basically cricket but on brooms, and the ball goes wherever it pleases), or placing bets on how many ridiculous collisions there'd be in Chippin (a game similar to AFL or rugby, only with nine balls and inflatable uniforms so the players kept bouncing off each other).

There were seven official magical Australian sports altogether, but we only had one pitch in the school, so the three most popular were chosen for Wattlegum lest a war break out for who got what practice time.

I was still thinking about last year's epic game of Chippin where Susan Knoll rebounded off every single player in the pitch before snatching one of the balls and winning the final point for the Wandjina team when I realised two people were walking up to me.

"Mrs – Mum," I said, remembering at the last moment I was still undercover. "Daniel. What are you doing here?"

"We thought we'd keep you company," Mrs Graves said. They were dressed properly now, in casual clothes. She had a plastic container of what looked like quiche and a thermos capped with three plastic cups.

I lowered my voice. "That's very nice of you, but you need to go. I'm trying to lure out a killer, here."

"Nonsense, you said the muggles don't usually attack until afternoon or evening. Come sit with us. There's a nice shady tree over there."

I scanned across the road for Gordo, but of course he was out of view. I scratched the back of my head – our signal to let him know all was well – and followed Mrs Graves to the tree. It was a little further from the road, over a rise. Daniel trailed behind.

"Sorry about this," he muttered so only I could hear. "You look just like Sam – I think it's making her more stressed out than she already was. It's sparking her maternal instinct."

"Well maybe do something about that, because I'm kind of supposed to be bait here."

He laughed. "You've clearly never met my mother before. No one can stop her when she's set her mind on something."

"Then she and I will get on very well. Or be worst enemies," I added as an afterthought.

We settled down on the dry grass and Mrs Graves poured us all a tea from the thermos. I held the plastic cup, watching the steam rise in spirals. It smelled of camomile.

Mrs Graves pried open the container, and the aroma of fresh quiche wafted out. Three little forks sat on top. "Hungry?" she said.

I stared at the golden top layer, flecked with pieces of bacon and onion. _God_ it smelled good.

"I'm not supposed to eat on the job."

"That's a shame. Daniel?"

Daniel picked up a fork and dug into the quiche. It broke open in eggy, cheesy goodness.

Dammit.

"All right, maybe a bite or two wouldn't hurt."

Mrs Graves beamed.

I shovelled a forkful of quiche into my mouth. It was sooooooo good. I hadn't eaten since before we'd left Wattlegum, and even that was only a hasty slice of vegemite on toast.

I was in the middle of chewing a second mouthful when I realised neither Daniel nor his mother had eaten anything. They were just watching me. Smiling.

"Oh, crap," I said through the quiche, because my instincts have always been faster than my brain, and I was whipping out my wand before I could even figure out what was wrong.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

My wand flew out of my hand. Suddenly I was on the ground, pinned down by Daniel and his bulging biceps, his hand over my mouth. I thrashed and gave a muffled scream behind his palm.

We were over a rise. Gordo couldn't see us, and he wouldn't come into view unless he thought I was in danger. He was looking for a PIM, not Mrs Graves and her son. He didn't think I was in danger.

"Hold her a little longer," Mrs Graves said. "The poison will kick in soon."

Poison, oh fudge oh fudge oh fudge –

Wait, kick in?

 _Kick in_.

I remembered at the last moment and shoved my gumboots into Daniel. He went flying high into the sky, well off me. I managed a short, sharp scream before Mrs Graves slammed me to the ground again, her elbow against my throat. She was positioned to the side of me so I couldn't reach her with my gumboots.

I gagged. My fingers tingled. The sensation crept up my arms to my shoulders. Bubbles tickled my lips – I had started frothing at the mouth. Redness slithered across the sides of my vision, until the world was stained in the colour of blood. My whole body was tingling now, as if someone had smeared numbing cream across my insides. Spots danced before my eyes.

Mrs Graves suddenly flew backwards, but it was too late.

The redness took me.


	14. Hermione Granger

**Hermione Granger**

"I was totally fine."

"Your heart stopped. You were _not_ fine."

"We got to an antidote in time. You're overreacting."

"Overreacting? Am I? Am I really?" Gordo paced in front of my hospital bed. His neck vein was bulging again. It was gross to look at, but I couldn't seem to tear my gaze away. "I told you not to eat while on a sting. I told you to be vigilant. I told you not to take this job if you weren't feeling up to it!"

"Neither of us knew the killer would change his M.O.. It must mean he's desperate."

"No, it means they know the Ministry's onto them." A smartly-dressed woman marched into the hospital with a thick, ratty book tucked beneath her arm. She had a British accent, and her bushy hair was tied back into a bun, with several strands escaping in wisps.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Gordo said.

"Hermione Granger." The woman barely glanced at him before taking a seat by my bed. "Hello, Romy."

I'd heard her name before. "You're one of Harry's friends?"

"That's right. He contacted me after your little incident. Said things were getting worse."

Behind her, Gordo's eyebrows flew up. "Excuse me, but just because you're part of Harry Potter's posse doesn't give you the right to barge in. This is a private ward, and a private investigation."

Hermione Granger ignored him and opened the old book to a marked page, setting it on my lap. Its pages were yellowed with age, and stained with what looked like blood. I curled my lip. "What is this?"

"Hermione!" Harry skidded to a stop at the door, panting. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Hermione left the book with me and stood. "I got here as soon as I could. I was racking my brains the entire week trying to figure out why this killer's ritual sounded familiar."

"A week?" Gordo said, squinting at her. "You've known the details of this case for a week?" He rounded on Harry. "You're not supposed to be blabbing about confidential details to anyone you see fit. This is a high-stakes investigation. I'll be reporting you!"

"Okay," said Harry. To Hermione, he said, "What did you find?"

She pointed to the book in my lap. "It was in one of the books in Dumbledore's office with information about Horcruxes. I'd read those books cover to cover, but of course it was years ago, and the information just doesn't stay in my head like it used it –"

Harry smiled gently. "It's all right, Hermione, we forgive you." He started for me. "So what's involved?"

Gordo spluttered, but he didn't stop Hermione or Harry as they bent over my bed to read with me.

"It's a spell to take magic from a newly deceased witch or wizard," I said, dread dousing my system. "Someone's stealing magic from children."

Harry ran his finger over the page. "Although it doesn't say anything about children in here."

"A child's magic is the purest," Hermione said. "Adults bend magic to suit their person, but children still have the basics."

"Huh?" Harry and I said at the same time.

"It's like buying one of those memory foam pillows. They start off uncreased, then adjust according to the user. Magic is like that. It's very personal. That's why we all have different types of wands. If someone were to steal an adult's magic, they'd find it unsuitable to use for themselves. Younger children's magic is wild and unpredictable, but as it calms down at the beginning of adolescence, it's like the perfect uncreased memory pillow." Hermione was patient as she explained – much more patient than most of my teachers.

"Is that why wizarding school doesn't start until we're eleven?" I said.

Hermione nodded. "I'd say that's a good assumption."

"So someone's stealing uncreased magic," I murmured, staring at the page. "Why?"

"Excellent question, and I don't know the answer," Hermione said. She nodded at the book. "I don't even know the specifics of how that spell works. Notice how there are components missing in this particular book – the measurements of the ingredients, the type of cauldron to use. It doesn't say anything about having to Imperius a muggle to perform the killing, either, although I do have a theory about that. But the part of the spell about being north of a large population and being near water is all in there, which makes me certain it's this spell the killer's using." She looked at me. "What I also know, unfortunately, is the killer had no qualms about changing his or her mode of murder to suit getting rid of you. This time it wasn't about the spell. It was specifically to kill _you_." She turned to Gordo. "Somehow the killer's found out you have a Metamorphmagus working for you."

Gordo gaped at her.

"This is why I contacted her," Harry said.

"I think I love you," I said to Hermione.

She turned to me, blinked, then blushed. "Sorry, I get a bit caught up when my mind's on something serious." She held out a hand for me to shake. "It's lovely to meet you, Romy. You're very brave for putting yourself on the line for the Ministry."

"Which she'll no longer do." Valentine Hunt stalked in wearing a fitted pantsuit and a murderous expression. "Romy Moon, you are officially off this case. That was too close for comfort."

"But –" I started, except Hermione spoke over me.

"That's hardly necessary. She's going to be targeted now, anyway. If the killer's working from the inside, he or she already knows about her."

Valentine scoffed. "The killer isn't one of my team, if that's what you're suggesting."

"How else do you explain it?"

Valentine held up a pair of handcuffs.

"Are they the ones used on me last Saturday?" I said.

"Unfortunately, no." Valentine swung them around on one finger. "Those ones were gone by the time we swept the crime scene. But we have these in our office." She slapped them on my wrist.

"Hey!" I said.

She unlocked them and tapped her wand against the steel. It changed colour until it was swimming with blues, greens, and purples.

"They detect magic used from the wearer," she said, lowering them. "Good for when you're trying to find an Animagus, but also for identifying a Metamorphmagus."

"The killer suspected the Ministry had caught on and was testing us," I said.

"It's perfectly possible the killer also stole a pair of those from your office," Hermione said. "Which means we can't rule out someone working from the inside."

Valentine didn't bat an eyelid. "I trust everyone in my department, Miss…?"

" _Ms_ Hermione Granger," Hermione said. "And you can absolutely not take Romy off this case. If anything, you need to train her up more. If the killer knows you've got a Metamorphmagus working for you, it's only a matter of time before he or she tracks Romy down. There aren't too many Metamorphmagi around."

Valentine said nothing, and I beamed at Hermione. Yup. Definitely loved her.


	15. A Crowded Hospital Room

**A Crowded Hospital Room**

I was still in hospital that evening. I would have to keep taking an antidote every four hours until tomorrow, and seeing as my life was in danger if I missed a dose, Ms Mathers made me stay under Healer Thwaite's care overnight.

It might've been boring if I hadn't got a variety of visitors asking how I was (most of them wanted to know if it was the killer who'd done me in, but I'd told them it was my own fault for eating a dodgy-looking mushroom in the forest). After eight o'clock, though, Healer Thwaite ushered the visitors out, and I was alone.

Until eight twenty-three.

"Hey," said Harry, Hermione trailing in his wake. "How are you feeling?"

I brightened. "Better now. What are you doing here?"

"Thought we'd keep you updated," Hermione said, sitting at my beside. "I know how utterly frustrating it is being kept in the dark."

"I went down to your Ministry this afternoon and tried to interview the witnesses," Harry said. "They were still under the full body-binding curse. I used that spell to only free their heads, but…" He trailed off.

"They were in a frenzy," Hermione continued for him. "It's not pleasant to watch. This killer knows how to cover his or her tracks. The best option is to Obliviate them – that breaks the Imperius curse."

Poor Daniel and Mrs Graves.

"At least the killer didn't get a child this weekend," I said.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "Maybe not, but we've still got to be on our guard," Hermione said. "The next target city should be Hobart, but we don't know if the killer's going to leave the mainland to come to Tasmania."

I squeezed my cotton blanket. "We can't use the same tactic as before."

"No," Hermione said. "Harry and I have come up with something else. And it includes you," she added at my expression.

I grinned.

"As much as I hate to involve you," Harry said. To Hermione, he said, "Now I know how all the adults felt when they didn't want us included in the Order."

I was keen to change the subject so he didn't bring up how young I was again. "You said you had a theory on why the killer was using muggles," I said to Hermione.

"Yes." She smoothed her pinstripe skirt. "I think the killer doesn't like muggles. I think this is a way to increase wariness and suspicion between our two communities. It's not his or her final goal, but it's certainly a bonus in the killer's eyes."

I thought of what Mrs Graves had said about steering clear of muggles and being unsure who to trust. "You might be right."

Harry grinned. "The thing I find about Hermione is, she's always right."

"So what's the plan for next week?" I said.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but –

"Eight thirty, Romy, time for your – oh." Healer Thwaite slowed when he saw Harry and Hermione. "I beg your pardon, I didn't –"

"That's fine, we were just leaving," Harry said, standing.

"We were… checking to make sure there was no foul play on this student," Hermione said. "But it sounds like an accident."

Healer Thwaite's attention was still on Harry. He held out his hand. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you? I heard you were here, but I haven't had a chance to catch up with you. It's always busy in here, especially at the beginning of the year."

"Healer Thwaite," Harry said. "Heard you're the best in the country."

Healer Thwaite laughed. "If Mrs Mathers told you that, she's lying. She likes her school to sound better to foreigners. And please, call me Tom."

A small shiver ran through Harry, but Healer Thwaite didn't notice as he introduced himself to Hermione. Harry furtively touched his scar.

"I'm keen to see your supplies, if you don't mind," Hermione said. "Just so I know what you've got available. I've heard Australian healing is quite different to British."

"That's because we have Dreamtime magic to call upon," Healer Thwaite said. "Shall I show you my stores?"

"Yes, please, if it's not too much trouble."

He gave me my antidote to take and left with Hermione to the back of the room.

"What was that about?" I whispered while they went through the cupboard of potions.

"What?" Harry said.

"This." I mimicked him touching his scar. "And you shivered." I gasped softly. "Do you think Healer Thwaite has something to do with this?"

Harry gave a strained smile. "Not at all. I'm a little prejudiced against the name Tom, that's all."

"That's a bit harsh. There are heaps of people called Tom."

"It was the real name of Voldermort," Harry said, and touched his scar again.

I snorted. "You can't let that turn you against every Tom you meet."

"I know, I know. Let me tell you, there was a bartender at the Leaky Cauldron who was mightily offended that I avoided him after the war."

"It's been almost twenty years, though."

He shrugged a little. "I suppose you can never really leave that stuff behind."

Wow, that sucked.

He got up. "Come on, Hermione, we should get going." To me, he added under his breath, "If you don't cut her off early, she could go on and on for ages."

I grinned as Hermione said goodbye to Healer Thwaite and I, then left with Harry.

"Right, then," Healer Thwaite said. "Got a book, or maybe some homework to do? Good. I'm going to have my dinner."

He headed out the door after Harry and Hermione. He was barely gone two minutes when the door creaked open again and Pippa popped her head in. "Guess who?"

I grinned, gladly clapping my potions book closed. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping you company," Pippa said, skipping in with a cotton bag. Evie trailed behind, but she checked over her shoulder every now and then.

"You were here all afternoon. Not that I'm complaining."

"I've been in hospital overnight enough times to know it's boring as billybees," Pippa said. She tipped out the contents of the cotton bag all over my lap. Larrikin's Luminous Lollipops. Trust her to think sugar was the answer.

She picked a lemon one up immediately and unwrapped it. "So what's been happening in the thirty-five minutes since Healer Thwaite kicked us out? It took him ages to go to dinner."

"He had to give me my antidote at eight thirty."

Evie pursed her lips, studying me. "Did you really eat a strange mushroom off the ground, Romy?"

"Yes," I said without looking at her. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"As many as it takes for us to actually believe it. You're not that stupid. Pippa I would believe, but not you."

We waited for the usual "Hey!" that erupted whenever we gave Pippa a jab.

Nothing.

Both of us watched as she sucked on her lollipop. She was starting to glow yellow – the effects of the _lumos_ spell. She had a funny little smile as she stared at nothing.

That wasn't right. The lollipop made you glow, it didn't make you space out.

"Er, Pippa?" I said.

Evie sighed. "We ran into Ky when we left the hospital earlier."

At his name, Pippa jolted back into the conversation. "Huh?"

"They were arguing again," Evie said, "but I think the meaning's changed. In first year it was actual fighting. Now it's under the category of 'flirting'."

I'd noticed that too, but had refrained from saying anything.

"We were not flirting!" Pippa's face had started to go red, which, under the _lumos_ spell, meant it was literally glowing red. "It's not like that. He's so annoying! And – and you know my parents would kill me."

Ky's parents had moved to Australia around the same time as Pippa's. Their families had an ongoing feud that had lasted generations. Pippa's parents were pretty chill about everything – even her vague music ambitions – but when I'd visited her place once they'd laughed and said they'd disown Pippa if she fraternised with the Green family… only I didn't think it was a joke. I'd never asked what had started the fight, but I knew about the things that happened between the families over the years. Invitations to important social events that were conveniently misplaced, making the Blakely family look rude for not attending. A suspicious bushfire in the wand-tree forest owned by the Greens. An awkward arrest when a Dark object had been found in the Blakely house. It had taken two weeks of investigations to prove the object hadn't belonged to any of the Blakelys, and plenty of bad press.

The feud was why Pippa and Ky had hated each other so much, from the moment they'd met.

At least, they used to hate each other.

I'd always wondered what would happen if that heat between them became a positive rather than a negative, but in my imagination it had never ended well. I knew what happened to Romeo and Juliet, and I had no plans to lose a friend to suicide.

"You're going to have to be more convincing than that when you talk to your parents," Evie said.

"Goodness, what are you lot doing in here?" Mrs Pondly had come in with a trolley full of cleaning equipment. Her surprise softened when she saw Pippa. "Hello, love. You're glowing nicely. How are those fingernails?"

Pippa checked her nails. Her detention from Mr Stone had been to scrub the roosting tower by hand. "Much better after you told me about that spell."

Mrs Pondly beamed. "Good, good. If only I could use it, too." She sprayed the windows and wiped them with a cloth.

"Poor Mrs Pondly," Pippa whispered. "It must suck to be the caretaker when you're a squib. So much _work_!"

"I guess she likes it, if she's still here," I said quietly, watching her scrub the corners of the glass. It didn't look like she was going to tell my friends off for being in here when visiting hours were over. Best. Caretaker. Ever.

Then I grinned and turned back to Pippa. "Besides, she's in a much better situation than someone who's got a crush on their arch nemesis."

Pippa hid her still-glowing face as Evie and I laughed. "You guys, shut _up_!"

* * *

A/N: As you may be aware, JK Rowling released information about US magic and received some considerable backlash for her portrayal of Native Americans. Everything that was said against her was everything I feared when writing this story.

Of course I have no right portraying Indigenous Australians in Australian Moon, but to leave the culture out altogether felt like a horrible injustice. They are the Traditional Owners of this land. They also have many tribes and dialects all across the country, something which I've yet to mention (though I had plans to later). I've tried to represent a variety of Indigenous Australians and steer clear of stereotypes, but in the end, I simply feel that **I'm not qualified to write this story**.

Thank you so much to those who have read up until now, and please accept my sincere apologies for not continuing. Please also accept my apologies for any misrepresentations of Aboriginal culture - it was not purposefully done.

\- Kaitlyn


End file.
